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Updated: June 4, 2025
I preserve them together with the little brass bell that my father got from the "horse-dealer." The narrative of the sufferings of our race, I, Sylvest, shall continue in obedience to my father Guilhern, the same as he obeyed the behest of his father Joel the brenn of the tribe of Karnak. Hesus was merciful to you, O, my father. You died ignorant of the life of your daughter Syomara
Now in a wild rage, the traveler tried to resist, but before he could draw his knife he was held fast by Joel and Guilhern, one of whom produced a strong rope with which they firmly tied the stranger's feet and hands all of which was done with great mildness and affability on the part of the story-greedy father and son, who despite the furious wrestling of the stranger, deposited him on the chariot with increasing respect and politeness, seeing they were increasingly struck by the virile dignity of his face.
On this memorable evening, in the presence of all the members of our family united in the Gallic camp, except my brother Albinik, who had joined the Gallic fleet in the bay of Morbihan, my father Joel, the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, addressed me, his eldest born, Guilhern the laborer, who now writes this account. He said to me: "To-morrow, my son, is the day of battle. We shall fight hard.
Joel continued imperturbably: "Thirty-two years ago, I married Margarid, the daughter of Dorlern. I have from her three sons and a daughter. The elder boy is there behind us, leading your good black horse, friend guest ... his name is Guilhern. He and several other relatives help me in the cultivation of our field. So you see, my guest, that you might have fallen into a worse house."
Guilhern then mounted the traveler's horse and followed the chariot that Joel led, urging on the oxen with his goad. They were in earnest haste to reach the shelter of their house: the gale increased; the roar of the waves was heard dashing upon the rocks along the coast; streaks of lightning glistened through the darkening clouds; all the signs portended a stormy night.
While the "horse-dealer" was speaking, I drew my hand across my forehead to make sure that it was really I, Guilhern, the son of Joel the brenn of the tribe of Karnak, a son of that free and haughty race, whom they were treating like a beef for the mart.
Little Sylvest, the son of Guilhern, a child of rosy cheeks and golden hair, who held with one hand the hand of his mother Henory, advanced a little and addressing the dying relative said: "I loved little Alanik very much; he went away last year.... Tell him that little Sylvest always remembers him, and embrace him for me, Armel."
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